


Out, In More Ways Than One

by Southern_Fried_Penguin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst and Feels, Comforting Sherlock, Don't Ask Don't Tell, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Exorcizing Anger, Fluff and Angst, John feels betrayed, John is a Bit Not Good, John is still in the military, John takes control of Sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock freeform, M/M, Military Background, Military Homophobia, Mournful John, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sassy Sherlock, Sherlock gives up control for John, Sherlock has emotions, Sherlock is a tad OOC, Sherlock tries to help, Slight domination, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:37:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southern_Fried_Penguin/pseuds/Southern_Fried_Penguin
Summary: John and Sherlock have been lovers for over a year. Sherlock comes home one day to find that John's entire world has been turned upside-down, betrayed by this father of all people. He watches as John struggles not to fall apart, initially feeling helpless. Sherlock finds a way to help John through his betrayal and anger, allowing for some very sexy times between them, and getting his own surprise in the end.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [novemberhush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novemberhush/gifts).



> I was working on writing another fic when this idea popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone. It took many long hours to get the things I had in my head down, and I've changed so many things many different times. I hope that you enjoy this product of my insanity.
> 
> I would like to immensely thank novemberhush for helping me, and dealing with my constant asking for approval.

The first thing Sherlock saw when he opened the door to the flat was John sitting in his chair, a letter in one hand and a gun on his lap. Sherlock's hand went slack, spilling the contents of a grocery bag; John didn't seem to notice the orange rolling past his shoe, staring blankly into the sitting room.

 

"Hey," Sherlock said, trying for casual - failing, his throat too tight. "You got the post?" John finally turned his head and looked at his lover. "Came by military courier." There was a blankness to John's gaze that Sherlock had never seen before as he began reading. "'I do not have a faggot for a son.' Signed, Brigadier General Michael Watson. On official military letterhead too." John gave a hollow laugh. "Short and to the point. He always did hate typing." He finally looked up at Sherlock, eyes bright. "I don't have a father anymore." Sherlock stared down at his lover of over a year, helpless to know what to say or do. Everything had begun unraveling a few months before when the two of them had gone on a week-long beach getaway, far from the prying eyes and suspicions of John's military colleagues. Or so they had thought. Ten days ago John had been surprised by a panel that had laid photos before a stunned John and which, despite its attempts at formality, had only one question: was he gay?

 

John, never one to tell a lie, had said yes. Thus began his discharge process, although nobody would say what form it would take. However, out was out and despite five years and achieving the rank of Captain, the military had spoken: they no longer wanted him.

 

Sherlock knelt slowly down beside his lover's chair. John's gaze never wavered as Sherlock picked the gun off the other man's lap, checked the safety without looking, and slid it beneath the small table beside them. His throat tightened as he realized again how much was being unfairly stolen from the man. As long as Sherlock had known his lover, John could take anything that was thrown at him, no matter how tough, and work through it. That's what had always attracted Sherlock to John: the military man was a rock, someone that could always be counted on to stay steady.

 

Now that rock was crumbling before Sherlock's eyes, and he was powerless to help. He laid his head on John's knees and hugged his lover's calves. Hyperaware of the gun beneath the small table next to them, Sherlock tried not to think what he may have found had he been too long at the grocer. Tears threatened but he refused to let them come, hugging John's legs tighter.

 

A hand rested on Sherlock's head, fingers lacing through the dark hair. He leaned into the caress, turning to kiss the palm when it moved down the side of his face. The thumb caressed Sherlock's mouth and when he looked up he saw John watching him. "You always were so beautiful on your knees," John mused, tracing the lines of a bemused Sherlock's neck with his fingertips.

 

Confusion over the sudden change in mood gave way to understanding as John's hand clamped down in his lover's hair, pulling back Sherlock's head. John leaned forward in the chair and, letting go of Sherlock's hair, slowly wrapped his other hand around the exposed neck. Sherlock could still breathe but the blood and air flow had been restricted; his head began throbbing in time with his rising heartbeat. John's thumb caressed his partner's jawline without letting up on the pressure. Sherlock kept himself still, submitting to the hold, keeping his eyes locked with John's. Despite the sorrow he still felt for his partner, there was a thrill of anticipation seeing the mounting fierceness in John's gaze.

 

“I suppose nothing can be done about it now.” John sighed.

 

“John, I'm so sorry.” Sherlock whispered. He opened his eyes and glanced down at the gun once more. “The fact that I caused this….a pain great enough to even have you consider….”

 

“Stop.” John said, more forceful than he intended. He took a small breath then started again, softer this time. “The only thing I regret is the small mindedness of people who assume who I love has any effect on how I serve Queen and Country.”

 

“They are fools. You are the bravest man I know.”

 

“I do believe your opinion is biased.”

 

“Do you wish for facts then? Alright. Last year…”

 

Knowing that Sherlock was on the verge of an impossibly long rant, John silenced him by capturing his mouth with his own. Sherlock's surprised melted away with a purr from the back of his throat, causing John's hand to tighten in his hair once more. He lightly ran his tongue along Sherlock's lower lip until he was granted entrance. Sherlock immediately became pliant in John's hands. He knew John felt helpless with the current situation, so allowing him to be in control now was the only way Sherlock felt he could help. It was something they both enjoyed immensely so it was easy enough. 

 

John scooted forward in the chair, opening his thighs so that Sherlock could lean into him completely. When their chests were flush against each other, Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and grabbed handfuls of his jumper, clinging on tightly. 

 

John switched his attention to the creamy expanse of neck put on display before him. He placed open-mouthed kisses on the smooth skin, feeling the heartbeat dancing underneath his lips. Sherlock's grip tightened as John latched onto a sensitive spot and sucked gently until he was sure it would be marked. Satisfied that it was, he moved higher and grabbed Sherlock's earlobe with his teeth, nibbling until he heard noises that caused his trousers to become increasingly too tight. 

 

Sherlock pulled back for a moment and looked into John's eyes. The growing passion was easy enough to see, but Sherlock knew him well enough that it was also hiding an immense sense of betrayal. Uncertainty of what his future may hold. And anger that had to be released before it festered. Releasing his hold on the jumper, he cupped John's face as tenderly as he could. He immediately made it his mission to assure John that he would never abandon him, come what may. 

 

“John.” Sherlock started, his voice starting to crack slightly. The tears that he fought moments ago won their battle as they slipped silently down his face. “Whatever you want, whatever you need from me, take it.”

 

John's eyes instantly went from a bright blue to the color of storm clouds, the pupils dilating impossibly wide. Sherlock sucked in a breath, waiting yet eager to face the oncoming storm that was John Watson. 

 

“Are you sure?” John asked, holding onto his self control by a thread. “The way I feel right now….once I start I'm not sure I could….” Sherlock quickly kissed him, swallowing his words of doubt. 

 

“You would never hurt me John. Of that, I have no doubt and neither should you. Exorcise your anger. Let it out. I can take it, whatever happens.” Then he said the three words he knew John needed to hear before they continued. 

 

“I trust you.”

 

John immediately sprang from the chair, pulling Sherlock with him. He mercilessly crushed his lips to Sherlock's in a punishing kiss that they would both feel for hours to come. Among their heavy breathing John managed to growl the words ‘bedroom’ and ‘now’. Not wanting to relinquish contact, Sherlock began walking backwards towards the room they shared. John continued his onslaught of Sherlock's mouth while following him, as if he was starving for oxygen only Sherlock could provide. 

 

Sherlock began to fumble with the buttons of his silk shirt, his fingers hopelessly inept as he couldn't seem to get his brain to make them work properly. By the time his back was pressed against their bedroom door, John's impatience had grown to the point of insanity. He grabbed Sherlock's shirt and ripped it open, sending the expensive buttons flying everywhere. He yanked it down over Sherlock's shoulders, exposing miles of alabaster skin punctuated by the occasional mole and the slightest dusting of hair. He immediately latched onto his left nipple and laved his tongue around it until it pebbled. He took the dark nub into his mouth and sucked, hard. 

 

Sherlock felt his knees go weak and knew that if it wasn't for the door behind him he would have surely crumpled to the floor. He wanted nothing more than to grab John but his hands were still held prisoner in the buttoned cuffs of his now ruined shirt turned inside out. 

 

John reached around him and turned the doorknob. They both momentarily stumbled as it swung open under their combined weight. They caught their balance once again as John pushed him towards the bed. As Sherlock felt the backs of his knees touch the bed, he renewed his efforts to free his hands. Seeing what he was trying to do, John spun him around facing the bed.  
“Kneel on it, and I'll help you,” he ground out between clenched teeth. Sherlock did as he was told, feeling the mattress dip under his weight and bringing him on an equal level with John. 

 

John was there immediately, grabbing his hands. Instead of releasing him, however, he used the shirtsleeves to effectively tie Sherlock's hands together. Sherlock turned his head in surprise. This was new. But it only caused the fire within him to burn hotter still, his cock swelling and begging for release from its confinement. John's smile was almost predatory. “I didn't say what I would help you with.” Sherlock couldn't do anything but close his eyes as an involuntary moan escaped his lips. He wasn't sure where this was going, but he didn't care. John needed this; John needed him. 

 

As soon as he was satisfied that Sherlock was sufficiently tied he started kissing the back of Sherlock's neck, feeling the curls tickling his nose. Gooseflesh immediately covered Sherlock's body, causing him to shiver. “John, please…” he panted. John quickly pulled his jumper and his undershirt over his head. He then snaked his arms under Sherlock's and around his waist, pressing his chest flush with Sherlock's back. 

 

Sherlock rolled his head back and let it go limp on John's shoulder. He felt John press his nose against his neck, his tongue licking a stripe from shoulder to ear. He was so centered in to what John was doing with his tongue that he hadn't noticed John's hands, which were now occupied unfastening the flies on his trousers. The sudden release of pressure on his straining cock was enough to alert him of John's intentions. He looked down, wanting to see John take him in his hands. He could see the head: an angry red, leaking profusely, demanding attention. John's fingertips ghosted themselves over it for a moment, a delicate tease but also a conniving misdirection. No sooner did Sherlock throw his head back once more, this time in frustration, John gripped the length and gave it a firm stroke upwards while simultaneously sinking his teeth into the apex between his neck and shoulder. 

 

Sherlock saw stars and was sure the howl of pleasure that was ripped from him sounded anything but human. John continued to nip and suckle on him, leaving his mark on him. Through his haze, Sherlock can hear John punctuate each bite with words.

 

“You. Are. Mine.” 

 

The hand on his cock continued to grip him, stroking him. The clear fluid that oozed from the tip acted like lubrication, aiding John in his administrations. Sherlock felt dizzy with want. He arched himself slightly forward while gyrating his hips, effectively grinding his ass against John's crotch. John moaned his name, clearly undone by the unexpected stimulation. 

 

“Is that what you want?” he asked, removing his hand from Sherlock's cock and placing it around Sherlock's neck with just enough pressure to hold him still. “You want me to bury myself inside you, and fuck you until you can't scream my name anymore? Is that it?”

 

Sherlock tried to swallow but the combination of his mouth being dry and John hand on his neck made it almost impossible. He could still breathe so he knew he wasn't in danger. Except for losing his mind. “John…” he croaked. 

 

“You want to ride my cock? Prove it.” John released his grip on his neck and proceeded to pull down Sherlock's trousers and pants in one swift motion, pooling them at his feet. While Sherlock acclimated his overheated skin to the cooler air around him, John divested himself of all his remaining clothing. He then untied Sherlock's hands, kissing his wrists as he freed each one. Once he was sure Sherlock had control of his arms once more, he pushed him forward, effectively bending him over. Grabbing Sherlock's hips he pulled him closer to the edge of the bed, making him easier to reach. 

 

Keeping his hands on his hips, John started placing more openmouthed kisses along Sherlock's spine. He worked his way down, slowly but methodically. The slight sheen of sweat that had appeared on Sherlock's body filled his senses, the sweet musk of the man he knew and loved so well. When he reached the cleft that dipped towards Sherlock's most sensitive of places, he firmly speared his tongue into it, just enough to elicit more of the delightfully sinful sounds he was coaxing from the detective. 

 

Grabbing him once more, he quickly straightened up. Carefully positioning himself, he nestled his own cock between the perfectly shaped globes of Sherlock's ass. His own precum glistened as he smeared it all around, allowing smoother skin-on-skin contact. “Show me.” he demanded. “If I allowed you sink onto my cock until you were nearly split in two, how would you ride me?” He delivered a quick but firm slap on one obscenely perfect globe, watching it turn pink before his eyes. “Show me!”

 

By the point Sherlock is practically sobbing with his need for John. He immediately leans all weight on his forearms, effectively presenting himself to John's demanding gaze. He feels the heat and weight of John's girth still nestled tightly against his hole. He begins to move, sliding his ass up and down against John's length, gyrating, moving any way possible to get any friction at all against his entrance. At one point the head of John's cock caught in his puckered opening, the nerve endings there already overwhelmed with sensitivity. Just that little bit of pressure was enough to send Sherlock to the edge of the precipice. It took everything he had to hold himself back.  
John watched Sherlock's display, his mouth literally watering at the scene before him. He held Sherlock's ass tightly against his cock, knowing it was driving his lover mad but also enjoying watching what was his to claim. “You are so fucking gorgeous.” he breathed. He knew Sherlock could hear him, his sighs telling the tale. It would be so easy to give Sherlock what he wanted, what they both craved. But he denied them both, knowing he wasn't finished ridding himself of the poisonous anger that would eventually fester. Sherlock knew him so well, knew he needed this. He wasn't going to let it go to waste. 

 

He took a step back away from Sherlock's body. He watched as Sherlock turned his head almost immediately, a questioning look on his face, wondering why he suddenly being denied. John smirked at him, but there was absolutely no humor behind that smile. Sherlock went still. His panting instantly becoming quieter, although never slowing. It was almost imperceptible, but Sherlock saw it. The slight change in stature. The squaring of his shoulders. 

 

The pissed off Captain had come out to play. 

 

“Turn around.” he ordered. Sherlock immediately obeyed, sitting on the bed as a young boy would when being sent to the headmaster’s office. His gaze held John's, awaiting his next instructions. 

 

“As fucking brilliant as that was, I don't believe you've earned my cock just yet. You will show it the attention and respect that it deserves. Understood?” John barked. Sherlock nodded, but John wasn't having it. “ANSWER ME!”

 

“Yes Captain.” Sherlock answered, acting demure. 

 

“Good. You can start by getting on your knees.”

 

Sherlock kept eye contact as he slid gracefully to the floor. John put a hand on the back of Sherlock’s head to guide him forward and the detective complied, closing his lips around the tip of John’s shaft. It was a welcome invasion, warm and soft but firm at the same time. He moved forward down the length, cheeks hollowing as he sucked. John groaned and his attempt to concentrate faltered.

“God, if that isn’t just the most gorgeous you’ve ever looked...” 

 

Sherlock moaned at the endearment and swirled it over the head as he shuffled his hand, making John groan. He smiled smugly. “I might be the one on my knees, but it’s you losing control John.”

The Captain's eyes glinted and he gasped hastily as Sherlock gave another loud, slurping suck.

“You think you’re the one with the power here?”

He twisted one hand in Sherlock’s hair, holding him still as he flung his hips, driving himself to the back of Sherlock’s throat. He spluttered and opened wider, trying to accommodate John as he thrust savagely. His eyes watered from lack of air, saliva spilling from the corners of his mouth in a shiny trail.

“Think you’re still in charge?”

 

He drew back and Sherlock bent over, coughing as he cleared his mouth. John patted his head mockingly, forcing him to tilt it back with a hand under Sherlock’s chin.

“Let’s try it again without the attitude, shall we?”

Sherlock scowled but swept his tongue over the shaft, hand moving a bit faster around the base. He sunk down and John whipped his hips forward, prodding him in the palate. Sherlock murmured to himself and the Captain’s eyes just about rolled back in his head.

“Oh god, do that again.”

“Do what?” he popped his lips free.

“The humming.”

“You want me to hum?”

 

“You’re so fucking argumentative – one of the things I like best about you, naturally, but still. Just fucking hum!”

Sherlock grinned and sucked John back into his mouth, thinking of a good tune. He settled on one, humming low in his throat as he pushed his head forward.

John laughed. “God Save The Queen?”

Sherlock managed a smile and kept up his theatrical humming, secretly delighting in the way John had to tear his eyes away as he flung his head back. His fingers massaged Sherlock’s head, tugging painfully at his hair, but he didn’t make another attempt to control the detective’s movements and Holmes kept up his steady bobbing strokes, lips slick with spit, his tongue salty from John’s pre-cum.

John dragged him back by his hair. The brunette flinched slightly but sat still and obedient until John’s grip loosened he groaned contentedly, sagging a little.

“Good boy. Perhaps you do that a little too well. I'm not ready to be finished with you yet.”

He leaned down and kissed the detective, nails digging into the back of his neck as his tongue licked the mess from around his mouth. Sherlock whimpered. John broke away with a snicker and twisted the hair at his nape, forcing Sherlock to stand up.

“On the bed, now.”

 

Sherlock positioned himself in the middle, watching with blown pupils as John crawled over him. He nudged the brunette’s legs apart and knelt between them, supporting himself on his hand while the other wrapped around the flesh between Sherlock’s legs.

 

“Can you just imagine what I want to do to you?”

He stroked Sherlock softly, thumb sliding over the head on each pass. John looked up at Sherlock and licked his lips.

“Can you picture it? Me weighing you down, slamming into you tirelessly.”

Sherlock took a sharp breath, the image vividly springing to mind. John’s mouth curved up at the side wickedly as he kept up his strokes, voice low and quiet in Sherlock’s ear.

“Making you scream so loud the entire street will hear you….”

“John.” Sherlock whispered, his eyes flitting closed. His cock twitched in John’s hand and the Captain grinned, leaning closer.

“Clutching your hips until they’re bruised, slapping those pretty thighs, digging my nails into your perfect flesh...” Sherlock's body involuntarily arched into John at his words, silently begging. His prick was so engorged with blood that it had turned a violent shade of purple, contrasting itself against the flush that shaded him everywhere else.

“There we go. Little Sherlock likes drama as much as the rest of you, it seems.” John tugged at his arousal.

 

Cool fingers caressed his shaft as John sucked Sherlock’s sac into his mouth, tongue swirling around it. He gasped, legs stiffening then falling slightly further apart. John pulled away, dragging his lips backwards. Sherlock shivered at the warm press of his tongue against the brunette’s entrance, the wicked tip circling the puckered skin. It squirmed in, the contact wet and startling. Sherlock mewed.

“You like my tongue? See, when you’re good you get rewarded.”

Sherlock tried to control his breathing but spread his legs wider as John's tongue swivelled back inside him. He felt a surge of something through his body, making him feel unsteady. John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s cock and stroked as he lapped at the man’s opening, worming his way in deeper.

The two sensations made Sherlock buck slightly, fingers digging into the covers to try and hold himself together. He felt a sort of rolling wave moving up his spine and gasped, only to have it cruelly cut off by a hard grip around the base of his member.

“Uh uh, not yet honey. I am nowhere near finished with you.”

 

He ducked his head, tongue returning to its exploration as his fingers made long, slow motions up and down Sherlock’s prick. He rolled his hips up into John's fist, aiming for more friction. John didn’t stop him, keeping up a constant pace as he nipped at the back of Sherlock’s thighs and gently sucked his sac again, one side at a time. His fingers played over the sensitive spot just behind and Sherlock stiffened, only to be clamped off again.

“All in good time. Stop squirming.” he ordered. 

He growled with a frustration that made John quirk a brow gleefully as he sat up, reaching towards the bedside table and the supplies they kept there. He took out a thin white tube and flipped off the cap, squeezing a line of clear gel over his fingers. John rubbed them together, thoroughly coating the skin before placing them at Sherlock’s entrance. Instead of pushing them inside, he calmly stared at Sherlock.

 

“I wonder how long I could keep you here...just waiting.” he mused. 

 

“You...wouldn't...be that….cruel…” Sherlock gasped. 

John just smirked and pressed a finger in slowly, the lube helping him work past Sherlock’s tight muscles. The detective immediately forced himself to let go, easing the way as much as possible. John didn’t speed up, just pushed gently until he was encased in Sherlock all the way up to the knuckle. He pivoted the digit, stretching out the other man, and as his fingers brushed a sensitive spot Sherlock’s mouth fell open with a groan before he could stop it.

 

He plunged his finger in and out for a moment, making as much space as possible before adding another. The renewed stretch made Sherlock purr and soon both fingers were pressed against his walls. It felt so good, the tightness, and he spared a glance at John to see the same thought mirrored on his face.

He crooked his fingers and Sherlock shouted again, arms flopping back against the pillow. John took his time preparing the detective for the next finger, making sure he was thoroughly open and ready before he even tried to slide it in. Sherlock closed his eyes against the added intrusion but the slight burning faded like with the others. Soon he was panting up at John with anticipation. John suddenly bent forward until he could take Sherlock in his mouth and grinned.

“Are you ready?”

His tongue swished over Sherlock’s member as his fingers rubbed against his passage, and Sherlock jerked violently. John’s lips were glossy with moisture as he closed them, sucking hard. His climax came rushing back, so close Sherlock could taste it on his tongue, and just as suddenly John stopped.

“John!” he whined without meaning to.

The other man ignored him, waiting until his breathing slowed before starting again. He did it over and over, until Sherlock was ready to rip his hair out. But the more John tormented him, the more it felt like it wasn’t enough. The fingers moving inside him always just missed the sweet spot; the hot cheeks rubbing against his shaft were too slippery for any real contact. He pressed his head back and wriggled his hips unhappily. John stopped again, leaning his chin on Sherlock’s thigh.

 

“Do you want more, Mr Holmes?”

He panted, nodding.

“What’s the magic word?”

The detective stubbornly bit his lip. He wasn’t going to say it. John tutted and scissored his fingers, brushing Sherlock’s prostate again. He arched up, eyes shut.

“Please! Please John, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

“Good boy!”

He slipped his fingers out and Sherlock groaned, prick bobbing between his legs impossibly hard and weeping. John tipped the lube into his hand and worked himself slick, climbing over Sherlock. He hooked the detective’s knees over his arms and slid in.

It was like nothing Sherlock had ever felt before, rippling through his muscles from his ass outwards with each thrust. John bit his neck, his chest, his jaw, mouth barely leaving Sherlock’s body as he snarled and drove himself forward. The detective grabbed at the sheets but it wasn’t enough leverage; his hands closed over John’s shoulders, pinching as he rocked into the friction.

 

John pulled at his hair, half-raising Sherlock’s torso. The change in angle made the detective’s hands fall back weakly, trying to hold himself up as John thrust. Sherlock’s whole head felt like it was going to explode, his limbs aching from being clenched so tight. His lip quivered as his eyes rolled shut and the smaller man giggled.

“Do you want to come?” John breathed, first pounding into him and then teasingly slow, alternating between strokes. “Do you think you deserve it?”

“Yes please, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please John.”

“Nice try, but no. Tell me what I want to hear and maybe I’ll let you come. If you're lucky.”

 

He hesitated, wanting to prolong John's control over him, but he was dying to be touched. He’d been hovering on the brink for at least fifteen minutes. John gave a particularly vicious thrust and Sherlock moaned.

“Oh please Captain, please let me come!”

John closed his hand around Sherlock’s swollen head and his climax hit him with a yell, writhing underneath him. Everything went black, the only sound was the blood crashing through his head as he bucked and rippled.

“Say it again.” He hissed.

“Captain! Captain, oh shit John.” Sherlock took a shaky breath, movements slowing as he relaxed.

John laughed triumphantly and hammered into him, falling over the edge with a feral roar. He stared down at Sherlock, shoulders hunched as he emptied himself into the other man. He took a moment to rest his sweat-slicked forehead on the pillow before lifting himself again. He gently pressed his lips to Sherlock's while carefully removing himself. Feeling his limbs going weak, he slowly sank down onto the bed. No sooner than he did so, Sherlock rolled onto his side facing John and gathered him close. He pressed butterfly kisses on John's forehead as they waited to catch their breath. John closed his eyes, feeling his eyes beginning to water from Sherlock's gentleness. The next thing he knew, he began to sob gently. Sherlock tightened his hold around him. 

 

“It's going to be alright.” he said trying to soothe him. “Whatever happens, happens.”

 

“I know.” John sniffed. “ Gah, look at me. I'm acting like a schoolroom sissy.”

 

“You are absolutely not!” Sherlock scolded. “You're going through an entire range of emotions. First disbelief at the letter you received, which turned into sorrow great enough to contemplate using your gun.”

 

“I wasn't really going to use it, you know.”

 

“I would hope not. I would be very displeased.” John couldn't help his small grin. “Anger came next. I'm glad I could be of help for that, by the way.” John's laugh was muffled by his face being so closely pressed to Sherlock's throat, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile smugly. “These are all natural steps in the grieving process.” 

 

“But I'm not…”

 

“Yes you are, in your own way. You're grieving for the loss of a father you had always looked up to, tried to be just like him. And you're also mourning the loss of your career, something you forged for yourself through years of dedication and hard work. Both things that were extremely important to you.”

 

“I suppose you're right.” John sighed. “You usually are, you bastard.”

 

“Someone has to bear that burden.”

 

John sat up and Sherlock reluctantly let him. “I wish my bank account was as big as your ego.” he said. 

 

“It would certainly give us more time to work on cases. But there's still one more step that is coming.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Acceptance. Eventually you will accept that what happened wasn't your fault, because of who you are or who you choose to love. It simply is. It may take you some time however. But you are an incredible man. I have no doubt that you will come out of this stronger than you were before.”

 

“I believe I will have you to thank for that. As long as I have you, I feel I can overcome anything.”

 

“Then accept this, here and now. I have no plans of going anywhere.”

 

“As if I'm going to give you a choice in the matter.” John giggled. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John once again and pulled him down for a kiss. He wondered in the back of his Mind Palace if he had any information stored on shortening one's refractory period. But before things progressed further, John's mobile began to ring in the sitting room. John made to pull away and Sherlock pouted.

 

“Hold that thought.” he said. He hastily donned a housecoat that was sitting in a pile on the floor and ran to catch the call before it stopped ringing. Sherlock lazily stretched, feeling his limbs quite relaxed. John had left their bedroom door open so he could hear him call for him. 

 

“Sherlock?”

 

Mildly alarmed, he got up and joined John, clothing be damned. He found him standing by his chair just staring at the mobile still ringing in his hand. Peering over his shoulder he saw the name lit up on the screen. 

 

“It's my father.” John murmured quietly. Sherlock kissed him softly on his shoulder. 

 

“You don't have to answer.” But Sherlock knew he would, his training still heavily ingrained in him. He watched as John hit the Accept button then held it up to his ear. 

 

“Hello Sir.”

 

Sherlock took a step back to give John some privacy but John quickly grabbed his hand, insinuating that he wanted him to remain close. Sherlock squeezed his hand gently in reassurance then made his way to his own chair. Here he could watch John's facial expressions, although not hear the other half of the conversation. 

 

“Yes sir. I received the letter. Came today actually.”

 

Sherlock watched as John kept his face carefully neutral. 

 

“No Sir, I don't understand. I'm your son. I never would have expected this reaction from you.” 

 

Sherlock began to fidget. 

 

“Yes, I understand that rules are rules. If I'm out, then I'm out. But why does that lessen your opinion of me?”

 

Silence.

 

“So you think my loving another man makes me less of one?”

 

More silence. 

 

“Well let me tell you something Sir. A real man stands up for what he believes in, and not caves to the opinions of others. He protects those who have protected him.”

 

‘Bravo John.’ Sherlock thinks. 

 

“What is the real purpose of this call anyway? I'm actually quite busy at the moment.”

 

Sherlock smirked.

 

“Yes he's here. Where else would he be?”

 

Sherlock sat up at the mention of him, curiosity getting to him. 

 

“I do believe that is no longer your business, seeing as how I'm no longer your son.”

 

Sherlock could hear John's father raise his voice but couldn't make out what he was saying. Suddenly he watched John's face perk up, a wide smile suddenly splitting his face. 

 

“Well if you must know, I do believe I have a wedding to plan.”

 

Sherlock froze, not sure if he heard correctly. John held out his hand, inviting Sherlock to take it. Sherlock stood up on suddenly shaky legs, not sure what was happening. He took John's hand and felt a squeeze. 

 

“That's what I said. You should have seen the look on his face. Complete shock.” Sherlock listened in a daze. “I wouldn't worry though. I'm sure your lack of invitation will free you from the trouble of arranging the time away.” 

 

John held the phone away from his ear and Sherlock could hear the voice on the other end, loud and belligerent. He watched as John simply hung up the call and tossed it in his chair. Sherlock still stood in shock, finding words hard to come by. 

 

“Well say something, you prat!” John laughed. 

 

“Did you mean it?” Sherlock asked, finally finding his voice. “You want me to marry you?”

 

John faced him fully. “If you'll have me.” Sherlock quickly threw his arms around him and kissed him thoroughly. 

 

“I'll have you any way I can get you.” he said. “And with my imagination, that can be quite a challenge.”

 

John kissed him again, his intention clear. “I never back away from a challenge.” he responded. Grabbing Sherlock's hand once more, he led him back towards their bedroom.


End file.
